


When Night Falls

by cheshirewritesagain1907



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Bloodplay, Dark, Death, Drug Use, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sexual Content, Suicide Attempt, True Love, Unrequited Love, Vampire Sex, Vampire Sherlock, Vampires, at least in the beginning
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-06-04 06:09:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6644434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheshirewritesagain1907/pseuds/cheshirewritesagain1907
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock Holmes dies, John Watson is emotionally destroyed. As life goes on, it isn't only physical pain he is enduring. He needs something to find a balance in his life again. His psyche is suffering as well and he eventually needs to see a therapist. When he starts hearing voices though he is very convinced that he is not crazy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey readers :)  
> Don't ask me why I'm writing this. I don't know, I really don't. It was just a sudden idea and since it got a bit more than just and idea I would like to show it to you. Normally I do not like vampires at all, much too over exaggerated but this got stuck in my head.  
> However, I need to warn you. The first few chapters will be dark and full of self-hatred and self-harm. Who does not like to read something like that, please don't.  
> Otherwise, I hope you enjoy reading, as always <3

He just sat there, not thinking anything.

How many time had passed? He didn't know. Didn't care. He did care for nothing anymore. Everything was a blur.

Only the cold, grey stone beside him mattered. The stone with the four words engraved he thought he'd never needed to read on it. William Sherlock Scott Holmes.

It was his gravestone. Since the funeral of his best friend he practically had disappeared.

He was sure that someone, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, Mycroft, would be looking for him but that only occurred to him so far as to the back of his mind. He could not think properly anyway. It didn't matter. Thinking without him was unnecessary. Thinking was his cup of tea, not John’s.

How was he supposed to go on without the mad genius? His life just so went back to zero. He was there where he had started again before he had met Sherlock, who changed his life so significantly. Not only as his best and only friend, no, but as his love. Secret love. He never had had the chance to tell him. He had been too afraid. And now? Of course he has never been actually gay but he had loved him. Truly. Without any doubt.

And what had he done? Nothing. He had held back in fright, not wanting it to admit in front of himself. And certainly not in front of...

"Oh, Sherlock.", he slightly whimpered and stroke the gravestone with his free hand, his other arm and head leaning against the cold material.

His other hand was occupied holding a bottle of scotch, Sherlock's favorite one if he ever drank. It was the second one already. And bloody expensive. But he didn't care.

He didn't care either that he was dirty and kind of wet from being outside and sitting on the grass, well, earth. Freshly put over his friend.

He closed his eyes in agony and let his tears run freely. He had not left him since his funeral except to buy these two bottles until the others were all gone. It was nearly too long away from him but he had come back.

"I will always come back. I am not leaving your side.", he assured the stone lovingly, a nearly-smile on his face. "Are you cold? I am a bit. I could get us some blankets.", he suggested and took a sip from the half empty bottle, the content of the other one already gone. "But not now, no worries, love, I will not leave you." His hand continued stroking the stone and the letters engraved.

"Seems like we are getting rain, aren't we? You should come inside with me." He looked at the stone, suddenly puzzled.

"Oh, right.", he realized all of a sudden. "You can't. That's alright then I'll just stay here.“

He took another sip.

"Want one? No? Alright, yes, I know that your brain slows down when you drink.“

Another one.

"Oh, shut up, Sherlock. I know the reaction of alcohol in the human body.“

He drank again.

"Now you are speechless?“

He drank again before he looked furiously at the gravestone.

"Say something, for fuck's sake, Sherlock, anything! Speak to me! You fucking bastard!“

Tears were running down his cheeks now as he moved to kneel in front of the stone, bottle still in one hand.

"You fucking, arrogant, selfish prick! What is wrong with you?!?! Speak to me, punch me, tease me, do whatever but don't just remain silent!“

He hit the stone with his fist as hard as possible and did not even flinch at the pain. It was dull and distant as if the hand would no longer belong to him. As if his brain refused to even feel physical pain, too occupied by fixing the emotional damage that has been done, most likely without any recovery.

He took another long sip from his bottle and leaned back down again.

"'m sorry, Sh'lock.", he slurred and closed his eyes. "Yes, I know it's a hard time for you too. Should not have hit you.“

He bumped his head back onto the stone.

"See? Now you've hit me too. Didn't even hurt.“

He drank again and knew that he did it too fast within a too short period of time but what did it matter? If he was lucky, he would follow Sherlock and to be honest with himself, that's what he wanted.

"John?"

A voice. He knew that voice.

He opened his eyes and saw a worried looking Lestrade above him.

"John, how long have you been here?"

John moved and leaned his cheek again against the cold stone.

"When was the fun'ral?"

"Three days ago."

He thought for a short second.

"Then for three days."

"Good lord, John, come on, you need to take a shower and go to bed. You will freeze to...", he stpped mid-sentence. "Just come on."

John, however, had not realized what Lestrade was going to say.

"No, 'm stayin' with Sh’lock. He needs me. He's cold without me. And lonely."

The alcohol did his work good, however, and Lestrade was able to pull him to his feet, against his own will of course.

John managed to wriggle free of his grip somehow and slumbered against Sherlock's gravestone again, this time hugging it from above.

"'m not lettin' 'im here on 'is own."

"No, John, you don't. He wants you to go home."

"Home?"

A sudden change ran through him and he stood, looking at Lestrade.

"Home?", he repeated.

"Yes, home.", Lestrade answered and took once again hold of him.

"Home where Sherlock is."

Lestrade let out a little sigh but John didn't know or care why.

"Yes, exactly."

"Okay. Can I cuddle 'im? Do you think he'd like that?"

"Uhm...I think so.", Lestrade said as he supported John away from the grave and graveyard towards his car.

"What else he likes, do you think? I need to tell him that I love him!“

He suddenly stopped and Lestrade was whether able to push nor pull him from the spot he'd frozen to.

"Do it. At home.", he suggested.

"Oh yes.", John looked at him. "Thanks for remindin’ me."

"No worries.", he replied at they moved on again.

"You are truly a good friend.“

John kissed him on the cheek.

"Ah...thanks."

"But that was only a kiss for a friend.“ John giggled. "I'll only kiss 'im properly. Do you think ’e likes it? I could kiss his beautiful lips. And his gorg…gorg…his chest. Do you think Sh'lock likes blow-jo-..."

"Alright John, there we are.", Lestrade interrupted him as loudly as possible and opened the passenger door.

As soon as John was inside and the seat belt fastened, he fell asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay guys... Here's the next chapter. Thank you so much for the kudos and reading <3

Lestrade helped John up the stairs to Baker Street and was sure that the man wouldn't remember a thing the next day. It was barely five o’clock in the afternoon but he needed to go to sleep. And he would have to tell Mrs. Husdson to prepare him something to eat and some water and tea. If he was a bit soberer than now that was.

"There we are, John."

He had opened the upstairs flat with the other man's key and they stood in the living room now.

"Where's Sherlock?", was the first thing John mumbled although he was not really able to be aware of what was happening around him.

Lestrade sighed again that day and hoped very much that the doctor would not be able to remember a single thing in the morning.

"On a case, John, you know that."

"Oh, yes." He looked up. "Why 'm I not with 'I'm?"

"Because you need to sleep now."

"Lestrade?"

"Yes?"

"Bathroom."

Could his day possibly get any worse? He doubted it.

Without further thinking he dragged his friend into the bathroom.

John once more struggled free from his grip and this time Lestrade let him. He fell to his knees in front of the toilet and lost all of the alcohol that his body could not cope with anymore.

At least so he did not need to get him into hospital due to alcohol poisoning. He had not really thought about that before but it could have happened.

"John, I'll pop down to see if Mrs. Hudson is in."

The man did not respond, simply nodded his head once, so the D.I. left him there.

"Mrs. Hudson?", he tried carefully and knocked at her door.

After a few seconds he heard footsteps and the old lady opened the door.

"Detective?"

"Yes, it is me, Lestrade. How are you?"

She did not answer but just looked at him, her eyes bloodshot from obviously crying. He did not need Sherlock's deduction skills to see that. He was broken himself, had cried at home. Now he tried to be strong for everyone else. And for Mycroft. He had been with him for the past three days, not left the house. He would never talk about it though.

"Mrs. Hudson, I brought John home again. If you would be so kind and look at him after some time? Maybe get him something to drink or eat?"

She only nodded.

"I'll put him into bed now and I guess he won't be up until somewhen the next day."

"I will look after him, Dete...Lestrade."

"Thank you Mrs Hudson."

He went upstairs again, completely understanding that Sherlock's former landlady could not name his profession.

John sat exactly where he had left him except the man had managed to flush the loo. At least something.

"John?"

He didn't react so Lestrade pulled him up once again and dragged him to the bedroom.

"Good heaven, why me?", he murmured and undressed John to his pants. After that he put him into bed and covered him with the duvet. The doctor immediately fell asleep again.

\-----------------------

John woke with a terrible headache and a weird taste in his mouth. He frowned and turned over.

What had happened? Had he gone drunk yesterday? Yes, definitely.

The feel of his bed was strange as well. Why?

He moved a bit without opening his eyes. It was bigger than it normally was. And the sheets were softer. Silk? Yes. It felt nice on his half naked body. Half naked and not his bed? Oh god what had he done?

But there was no one beside him. And yet. it smelled like his flat only a bit more like...Sherlock. That was Sherlock's smell. Oh god, what had he done?!?!

Okay he had to stay calm now. The man was not beside him so that meant either he was in the shower - no water to be heard - or he was frightened by what they had apparently done and had left - more likely.

John groaned quietly and opened his eyes.

It was Sherlock's room, indeed, but the usual mess was not what he found. There was…nothing. Except his dressing gown, which hung over a chair, was nothing to be found of his best friend's stuff.

He sat straight up in the bed.

"What...", he murmured and suddenly it hit him with full force and he was not able to breathe anymore. It was like someone smashed his chest together. The pressure made him gasp in fright. All the pain from yesterday flooded his brain again and spread through his veins in mere seconds.

John gripped the bedsheets and tried to calm himself a bit down so he could breathe again but the pain only got worse. It was like physical pain. Like nothing he had ever experienced before. He felt suddenly very sick.

The doctor managed to get on his feet and stumbled, a bit weak on his knees, to the bathroom where he immediately got sick.

Only when his stomach was completely empty he decided that he needed a shower and to brush his teeth. He did it at the same time, sitting in the tub with his toothbrush in his mouth and the water hitting him on the head.

He slightly remembered that he needed shampoo and shower gel as well so he reached for the bottles. Sherlock's bottles. He opened the shower gel and it smelled so much like him that he started crying instantly.

Carefully he poured some of the gel on his hand and rubbed it into his skin. He would smell like his best friend the whole day. Yes, that sounded amazing.

He washed his hair with the detective's shampoo, massaged it into his scalp so it would not loose it's scent too soon. After he felt quite clean, but not relieved from the heavy feeling in his chest, he slowly climbed out of the tub and put his toothbrush back.

He used Sherlock's towel and went back to his bedroom. He pulled out one of Sherlock's pants and put them on. They were a bit too tight but John didn't mind at all. He did not even realize.

After that he put on his detective's - _no, no yours, he never was yours!!_ \- dressing gown and laid back into bed. He wasn't sure what time it was and he didn't care. It didn't matter. The only reason he had showered was because he didn't want to ruin Sherlock's bed and the smell of it. And in exactly this smell he was wrapped into now.

After some time - _how long did not matter because if every heartbeat feels like an eternity you lose count at some point_ \- he heard a soft knock upon the door. 

Maybe he had fallen asleep, maybe he was awake and just staring at nothing, maybe he was dead. It was all the same to him.

"John? Are you in?"

Mrs Hudson's voice. So not dead otherwise he would have heard Sherlock's. He felt a sudden stinging pain again in his chest and needed to cough so hard he nearly vomited. _But that is not possible of course when your body had nothing in it anymore, not even water._

"John."

Mrs Hudson opened the door to Sherlock's room and looked at him, worried. He only saw that because he had sat up once he had needed to cough and therefore was turned towards the door now.

"John, are you alright?"

He did not answer. That was the stupidest question he had ever heard from the old landlady.

She came closer until she stood beside his - _Sherlock's_ \- bed.

"John, what did you do to your hand?"

He looked down and saw that his knuckles were red - the skin was split open but the blood was already washed off from the previous shower - and his hand itself looked swollen. He felt a very dull pain once he tried to flex his fingers but he hadn't noticed that earlier.

"It's alright Mrs H.", he answered and covered it beneath the blanket.

"Can you get up? I brought some tea and food upstairs and left it in the kitchen."

"Yes, thank you. I will...eat later on."

"Oh no, you won't. I'm not leaving you until you drank at least something. Come on, up."

The old lady stood there very persistent and crossed her arms over her chest.

John sighed softly and got up. What did it matter to him if he ate or not? If he drank or not? If he did he would only have her disappear soon and he wanted to be alone again so badly.

The landlady sat beside him at the kitchen table - _free from Sherlock's experiments now_ \- and watched him eat and drink his tea.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my readers :)  
> Big THANK YOU again for the kudos :) You are amazing thank you so much for reading.  
> Soo, here's the next chapter. And like I already warned you in the tags, there will be hurt, self-harm, etc. It is going to get darker still before we hopefully can see the light...

For a few days it just went on like that. John only knew a day had passed because the light in the flat changed. Most of the time he lay in Sherlock's former bed and slept. Or dreamt. Those dreams were the worst because he saw his best friend dying over and over again. He was forced to go through that moment again and again and again.

Greg stopped by in quite regular intervals - John guessed it must be about every second or third day - to check on him. When the DI found him the fifth time in the same position on Sherlock's bed, he had enough.

"John, I know you have been hurt quite badly and it is more than understandable that you need some time to recover but your life goes on." He pronounced the word _your_ like the sentence would have gone on _even if his doesn't_.

John heard that perfectly clear and just turned away. He had heard that already from Mrs Hudson often enough and did not need his friend to tell him the same thing.

"John. Please listen to me."

The doctor sighed, sat up and turned towards Lestrade.

"Why, Lestrade, why?"

He looked sad and averted his eyes.

"I don't know, John, but there is no way to change it. He would want your life to go on. He loved you, even if he would never have admitted it. You were his best friend. I'm sure he had a reason for what he did. And I'm sure that you know that as well. He wasn't a liar, he never was, not to the right people. I knew him a bit longer than you did but I'm sure you knew him better, much better."

John didn't reply. It would only cost him precious energy which he didn't have since he barely ate or drank. Mrs Hudson forced something into him every day but she had limited force as well and so he already had lost some weight.

"Wouldn't you like to go and work in the surgery again? I'm sure they would take you back in an instant. I can help you, if you want me to."

"Thanks Greg, that would be...nice."

"Yeah? Really?"

Lestrade was surprised, of course but he didn't suspect that John did everything only because he wanted him to shut up and leave his flat. The other man was convinced that his speech had brought John to this decision.

"I'm really proud of you, John. Let's go tomorrow?"

"Yes, tomorrow's good."

"Alright, see you mate."

Lestrade patted the doctor on his back and left, _finally!_ , left the flat.

\-------------------------

John stared out of the window into the dark grey sky.

He just came back from work at hospital and was really tired. Actually he had only gone to work because Greg and Mrs Hudson had insisted on him doing so. He simply hadn't wanted to listen to them anymore and had obeyed. He could act, he knew he could. In all these years with his best friend he had learned at least something. He may not be as good as he was but it was enough to convince everyone that he was slowly getting better.

This was of course not the truth. He felt just like everything had happened only yesterday instead of two months ago. Now he was sitting there, not sure what to do with himself. He knew he needed to find something against the pain but he could think of nothing. Sherlock would have taken drugs, he was sure about that, but after all he was a doctor and could lose his job if anyone ever found out. Furthermore he had made his friend promise not to take them anymore and now he could not betray him, not even in death, and take them himself.

He needed to find something else because otherwise he would go crazy, he was sure of that. He had refused the therapist, of course because he pretended to be fine. He didn't want to go to therapy anymore. He didn't need it. Or at least so he told himself.

Slowly he got up and walked towards the bathroom. He hadn't paid attention to his reflection in the mirror for some time so he did that now. He looked tired and worn out but still better than two months ago, he guessed.

What had he wanted to do in here anyway? He couldn't remember and he didn't think that it was important. What was still important in the world nowadays? At the moment he couldn't think of anything.

He should shave. Yes, he needed to shave before he went to work again tomorrow. People in the surgery just thought he was tired and overworked but they didn't know the truth. It was good like that.

His gaze automatically fell on Sherlock's razor as he was to take out his own. He couldn't resist and took it into his hand, nearly lovingly caressing its uneven surface and that was when it happened. His fingers slipped across the four super expensive and unbelievingly sharp blades and a drip of blood appeared on his fingertip.

"Damn it.", he cursed and put the finger into his mouth.

But suddenly he realized something. The burning sensation. It was something... He felt! He felt something different from the pain inside of himself. That was...interesting. And far more interesting was that it somehow distracted him from everything else that was inside him. It almost felt like a few endorphines found their way into his bloodstream.

Wasn't it like that when you hurt yourself? Your brain produced endorphines? Carefully he put the blade down to his left wrist and held it there.

Now he just needed enough pressure to draw blood but not enough to cut him too deep so he would lose too much blood and pass out or kill himself. Well, not that it would matter if he would kill himself. Nobody would grieve for long. And he would be with Sherlock again.

But he wasn't brave enough to kill himself, he knew that as well. So he drew the blades across his wrist.

He felt the skin splitting open underneath. He felt how the blades took their grip and tore the sensitive organ apart. Blood followed soon after. It burnt like hell but it was...GOOD. It felt great to be frank.

He put the blade again on his skin, a little higher this time, and repeated the motion. More blood. It dripped lazily down into the sink.

John didn't think of stopping though. Not yet. He did it again and again and again until all he felt was the pain in his arm. Eventually he put the razor aside and turned on the tap. He put his bleeding arm unter the flowing water and flinched but it still felt amazing.

Afterwards he took the first aid kit and dressed his still slightly bleeding wounds with a bandage. He could barely move his hand without feeling the pain but it was great. It would keep him occupied until he could do it the next time.

Needed it the next time.

This was how it all started. John started to feel better afterwards but the feeling only lastet up to maximum two days. After that time had passed he neede to do it again.

Soon not only his hurt inside him because of Sherlock but everything else, like stress or a bad day at surgery, became an excuse to hurt himself. He needed it like a drug addict needed his fill.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading and the kudos, people :) I am always so happy to see that you like my story :)  
> Here's the next chapter for you.  
> WARNING: There will be mentioning of attempted suicide in this chapter, along with self-harm again!!  
> And yeah, it's a short one and I do apologize for that. I will make them longer as soon as I get to the stuff involving more people ;)

If you ever had an addiction to anything at all, whatever it might have been, then you know that there is no going back, no stopping until you really, really want it. John knew exactly how it was but he couldn't stop. Why? Because he had no real desire to go on with his life without his friend anymore. He needed it, needed the pain to go on. What was the worth of life since he could no longer chase after his best friend through London? Those thoughts haunted him every day. He could pretend that he was fine but he never would be. That was a simple matter of fact.

So John did go on. The cutting went on and on and there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing. He was helpless. His lift just so went on. Lestrade did not suspect anything anymore since he behaved normal in his presence and even laughed, although that laugh never reached his eyes.

He went on like this for a few weeks, the cuts becoming deeper and more frequent since he started to lose the ability to feel the pain as much as in the beginning, until one day the inevitable happened.

John dragged the razor blade across his wrist, searching for a free spot to cut but there was none. So he decided to change directions and move it from his wrist upwards to his elbow. It worked. It cut all the cuts he already had in halves. John gasped at the pain and watched the blood welling from the burning wounds. Another one. He stared at his hand.

"Fuck.", he muttered as he saw that this time he had gone too far.

The blood collected in the sink quickly, too quickly. He had wounded an important artery too much, obviously. Sherlock would never have made such a stupid mistake. Sherlock. Well, at least so they would be together again. John smiled. He actually could not wait for that. He did not panicked, felt no pain anymore. He sighed.

"Sherlock, I'm coming to you, soon I'll be there, love. I miss you. I love you.", he whispered into the darkening room.

His strength left him and he sank to his knees, weak and too tired to move again. His body laid down on the floor, his bleeding wrist beside him drenching the bathmat into blood and covering the floor with it.

Suddenly, behind the blur, He could see a lean, tall, black figure coming closer to him.

"John!"

The figure knelt down, grabbing his writs with its hand.

"John, don't you dare dying."

"Sherlock?", John managed to get out.

The figure placed its other hand on his cheek.

"I love you too, so don't you dare dying."

"Sherlock..."

He tried to sit up but he could not move. His tongue felt heavy. If this was death then he would be glad to die since Sherlock was here.

"I love you, Sher...lock."

Then there was only darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys it took me a bit longer again to finish the next chapter. However, I'm on holiday at the moment, so good news for you, I'll be having more writing time again finally !! Well, I say holidays... but however, I will make some time for you ;)  
> Thank you very much again for reading and for your comments and kudos <3 Highly appreciated !! <3  
> Please enjoy the next chapter and you will hear from me soon again :*

The month went on and so did John's therapy. He was kept in hospital under supervision until his therapist decided he could live in his flat again.

The voice helped him through. It was there whenever he thought he couldn't stand it anymore. It was whispering to him during his sessions with his therapist, to let him know what he needed to say.

And John, of course, never mentioned it to anybody.

Greg started to look more and more relaxed when he came to visit him. He told him that obviously a therapist was all he needed because John even managed to laugh again.

He was happy again in a very twisted way. Sherlock was with him, every day, and he could talk to him whenever he needed to. He was with him when he went to bed. Then John would cuddle into his presence and close his eyes happily.

But, as a matter of fact, when we hear strange voices from the off, it's only alright when watching a movie.

One day John was sitting on his bed. It was his day off, no therapy, nothing planned. It was already past noon. Not that he had slept this long but he had stayed in bed, relaxing. He had tried to talk to Sherlock but he was gone at the moment.

His window was slightly ajar, so he could he the noises from cars driving past. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on his surroundings. He and the Sherlock-voice had never had very long conversations, nor significant ones, but his presence almost always lingered around him.

John was sure that he was definitely not going crazy. He just needed to figure out what Sherlock was. When he was dead, then he could be a ghost. Sherlock had said he wasn't dead but if he were a ghost he would be definitely dead, wouldn't he? That's how the system of ghosts worked. But if he was no ghost, what else could he be, which was more alive than a ghost but less than a human being?

"You are thinking so loudly, I believe, the people on the streets can hear you."

John smiled.

"I was thinking about you."

"Oh?"

John knew that Sherlock would have raised an eyebrow just now.

"Yeah. I thought about what you are ... well, might be."

"And to what conclusion did you come?"

The voice was a bit mocking but John did not react to that.

"Well, I thought of a ghost."

Sherlock huffed.

"But then I remembered that you said that you were not dead. But you have to be some kind of, well, dead, because no living person could whisper in my ear ... or head. More likely. Your voice is in my head, that's the reason no one else can hear you."

John opened his eyes again.

"You are not visible but that does not mean you are not here. You could just be hiding very well. I feel your presence and I know when you are gone. Suiting a ghost but, as you said, not dead. But maybe you are dead AND living at the same time. So less dead than a ghost but less alive than a human."

John simply knew that Sherlock was just so proud of him. When he spoke, his voice was colder than ice.

"And what leaves that? Being less alive than a human but also less dead than a ghost?"

"I...I'm not sure. Everything that comes to my mind is not really...logical."

"Why, because it's a myth?", the voice asked mockingly.

"I suppose so, yes."

"Tell me what you think I am."

John let his eyes wander around the room. He could be right - must be right - because there was no other option left. But he as a doctor should know that this was not possible. He had never heard of anything quite like that. Or, wait, he had but he had thought of it as a, yes, myth. A tail to scare people off. But now he wasn't so sure about it anymore.

"Sherlock, I know this might sound crazy now and I as a doctor should not think about it like that but ... are you a vampire?"

John held his breath. Sherlock chuckled dangerously in his head.

"Yes, John, I am. Are you scared now?"

He felt a presence kreep closer but kept completely still.

"No, Sherlock, not of you. I would do anything to have you by my side again. I prayed that you are not dead. And tgere you are. It doesn't matter what you are."

"But I could drink your blood."

"You could, yes, and I would let you. Because I know that you would never hurt, never kill me."

Sherlock kept silent so John went on.

"I don't understand, though, why you did not come earlier. You saw how I was suffering."

His voice is a bit angry now.

"I couldn't. I was suffering as well and just wanted to come back to you but it took even me some time to get used to this new thing and tge blood thirst. I accidentally killed someone during my first week, more than one to be precise. I needed to find out how to control myself first as to not get me, or you for that matter, in danger. But I stayed close, John, I never completely left. I watched you. And when I found you lying on the bathroom floor in your own blood, I knew it was time. I could stand the urge to feast on your blood because I knew you would die. And I was not ready to turn you because I could not send you to a living hell like that."

John blinked, once, twice.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

"Do you...want me to go now?"

"No. I want to know where you are."

Sherlock took a deep breath and the John saw something in the corner of his eye coming towards him from the window. John turned and saw a little, black bat landing beside him at the end of the bed, curling its small feet around the wood to keep from falling.

"Sherlock?", he asked carefully.

The bat unfolded and folded his wings.

"Yes, John, it's me."

The voice had to be in his head because the bat clearly was not able to speak.

"You look..."

"Normally not like that. But in my human form it is harder to control myself. And I think, this is enough for you at first."

"Will you stay now?"

"I can't, John, but I will come back as often as possible."

"I will find a way to get you blood, okay? Then you can stay."

Sherlock did not respond.

"Please, I meant what I said. I....I love you, Sherlock."

The bat moved and John took it as a yes.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as promised, another chapter for you guys :)  
> Thank you so much for all your love and kudos again. You are great, really <3 I am so lucky to have such wonderful readers.  
> Enjoy the next chapter and I will definitely try my very best to have another chapter ready as soon as possible. xx

The next time John saw Sherlock again was a few days later. The Ex-Consulting Detective had talked to him but had not appeared for some time. So when he flapped around the flat when John came home, he nearly jumped of happiness.

"Finally.", the little bat murmured in his head and landed on his shoulder as soon as he had taken shoes and jacket off.

"Sorry, I didn't know you were here otherwise I would have come home earlier."

"It's alright."

John could feel the little claws holding onto his jumper as he went into the kitchen to put the kettle on.

"Where have you been?"

"Hunting.", was the vampire bat's only response.

"Oh. Okay. I was at work."

"Obviously."

"They took me back, you know. Even after everything that happened. But they only give me a few hours per week and make sure I'm not under stress."

„You could spent your days far more useful.“

„I could?“

„Yes, you could stay with me, for example.“

„And how am I supposed to pay the rent? I actually can’t afford it on my own anyway but Mrs Hudson is so kind as to give me some discount. At least until I’m on my feet again.“

John busied himself with his tea. He did not want to talk about all this again. Every week he needed to go through all this stuff with his therapist anyway. Most of the time Sherlock was with him and told him what to say, so he could get out of therapy as soon as possible, but it was not that easy, once you have decided to kill yourself.

It was only due to Sherlock’s come back that he had survived. Without him, John would have been more than happy to die on the cold, hard tiles of their once shared bathroom floor. Without Sherlock, his life did not make any sense at all.

But he was back. However unusual and impossible this might be, he was back. He came back in time, just as he needed him most.  
„John.“, the bat reminded him of his presence and John returned from his thoughts. „Stop doing that. I can her you talking and I know what you are thinking about. It’s over now.“

Sherlock paused when John did not react.

„It is over, isn’t it? John, you need to promise me that. There is nothing else I would ask of you, but you need to promise me that you will not try to kill yourself again. I am here, I am back. And I will not leave again. Never again.“

John smiled weakly.

„I know. It’s just so hard to believe, you know.“

„But I am here, I am real, you are not mad.“

„I know that as well.“

„Then stop thinking about it and just accept it.“

„I will. I do.“

John took out a plate and put two pieces of toast into the toaster before taking out some butter and honey. He needed a snack for the first time in ages. He felt like having something sweet. He was not able to eat honey for a long time since he knew Sherlock was so fond of it. Therefore he had, obviously, tried to avoid it.

But now, since he was back…

As John was ready preparing everything, he took his cup and plate with him to the sofa, bat still silently on his shoulder. He put the items on the table beside the sofa and sat down.

Sherlock let John take a sip of his tea, then he moved on John’s knee and bend his little head to the left.

John looked at him confused at first but then he suddenly understood what his friend wanted him to do. He lifted his hand towards the bat and started stroking his fur.

The bat purred like a cat in his head and John could not hide his smile.

„You are supposed to be a bat and not a cat, you know that, don’t you?“

Sherlock huffed quietly but did not move any further so John kept on petting him.

It was strange and felt great at the same time to have his best friend so close. It was something he had desired for so long and now he could touch him, say him all the things he always wanted to say. 

The little bat looked so fragile but John was sure it wasn't like that at all. He made sure the little one rested properly in his left hand - Sherlock made an annoyed huff when he stopped stroking his fur - and took his cup of tea to take a sip.

"You...don't drink tea, do you?"

"I can drink and eat human food, if that is your question, but my body will merely destroy it within seconds since its not useful for me."

"Okay, so just ... blood."

"Yes, John."

"I, um, I could snatch some blood bags for you from work since I have access to the hospital. And Molly would help me as well, I think, if I can't get you enough."

Sherlock took his time before his answered.

"That would be lovely, John."

"Does that mean you're coming back, for good?"

"Yes, but just to you. You will need to solve cases on your own with my current presence on your side."

"I...I can't..."

"Yes, you can and you will. I will get bored otherwise."

John sighed and put his cup down, taking a slice of toast and taking a bite.

"Okay. But no flapping off on your own and letting me stand there like the greatest idiot."

Sherlock chuckled.

"Promise it, Sherlock."

"Promised, John."

"Does anybody else know..."

"Of my current state? No. And I would prefer if it stays that way."

"Of course."

The bat watched the slice of toast closely.

"You want some?"

"Just..." It moved uncomfortably. "Honey? Blood tastes...awful."

John chuckled, lowering the piece of toast so the bat could move towards it and lick at the honey. And it did not stop until it had licked up every single drop of it. Then it looked at John, begging silently for more but he shook his head.

"Later again, otherwise you will feel sick. You only had blood for a long time now."

"I hardly doubt that I would get sick."

"Let us not find out now. You can grow slowly accustomed to normal food again."

Sherlock sighed but obeyed. John looked at his toast now, putting it aside, not actually wanting to eat bat saliva, even if it was his best friend's.

"Will you...stay a bat then?"

"Just for some time more then I'll change back in front of you, only. But...I'm not quite ready."

"I think, me neither. Let's take all the time we need."

John took a blanket and draped it over himself while he carefully laid down, facing the telly. The bat moved to his shoulder, holding on with its little claws, burying itself in John's neck. John tried to cover it with a bit of blanket.

"You feel cold.", he muttered.

"My blood circulation works differently from yours now. I will always feel colder to the touch of a human being. Less when freshly fed because then I have warm blood in my system. My body does not automatically heat, like yours, because I don't need it. And it couldn't anyway. My heart is beating about twenty times slower than yours and I can go without oxygen for hours if needed."

"I thought vampires didn't need to breathe?"

"Every at least a bit living being needs to breathe, John. Although I can go very long without it."

"And sleep?"

"Not necessary, although I need to rest when after feeding. But I can sleep, if I want to. It's...nice from time to time."

"And you found that all out in these past months?"

"Yes, I did some proper researching."

"And you don't feel the urge to eat me now?"

Sherlock hesitated.

"I do. I am still young and hungry almost all of the time but I can control it."

John pretended not to have heard the unsaid 'I hope'.

"Can you feed as a bat or only as a human?"

"I can drink blood as a bat, yes, but I can only properly feed as a human. So you might understand now why I would prefer being a bat around you a bit longer. It's easier to control myself and even if I lost control, I could not hurt you that much. Therefore I would need to change and this would let me come back to my senses again."

And again the unsaid 'I hope'.

"Sherlock, who changed you?"

"Who do you think?"

"Moriarty?"

"And safe me like that? No. To change someone you need to inject your venom into some human being. After that, the human being need to die. And after that it needs to drink a small amount of its creator's blood, otherwise it will die. Normally vampires are dependent upon their creators until their first few years but I don't depend upon anyone. You want to know who changed me? It was a guy I found in my homeless network. I knew what Moriarty planned, so I took precautions. Moriarty is a vampire as well but he did not change me."

"Where...?"

"My creator? I killed him. No one was to know about it. I researched before what I needed to do and was prepared. After I drank his blood and got some of my strengths back, I killed him. It hurt and was hard without a helping hand and I am not proud of my lack of self-control I had back then but I am here now."

"So..."

"Moriarty still lives, yes."

John took some time to think that all over.

"And sunlight?"

"Forget about the myths here at all. I am sensitive, yes, but it's similar to an albino, no more, no less. I won't start burning ... or sparkling for that matter."

He spat out the last sentence. John moved his hand again to stroke the little head of the bat.

"If you are hungry, would you like to drink?"

Sherlock froze.

"I meant it. Like you said, you cannot hurt me when you are a bat and I trust you."

"This is too dangerous. If I try it..."

"You won't hurt me."

"You can't be sure of that."

"I am. And you need to drink, at least a little bit. I will prepare my body for you so I don't have to steal too many blood bags."

Sherlock moved his wings, a bit uncomfortable.

"It might hurt."

"That's okay, go ahead."

The bat pressed its snout in John's hand before opening its tiny mouth and biting him wit two razor sharp teeth.

"Ouch.", John complained but did not move away as Sherlock started lapping his blood.

A tingling sensation, similar to too much adrenaline, spread through his arm upwards. Suddenly he felt a pang of jealousy that Sherlock had drunk someone else’s blood. He had shared something so intimate with someone who was not him and that was more than a bit not good.

John felt the jealousy rising, fighting the urge to grab the bat and force the names of the other humans out of him just to go looking for them and hurt them.

"Sherlock.", he growled. "You will never ever drink from some other living being that me, you understand me?"

The bat seemed confused and started to pull away.

"John, I don't want to..."

"No other humans beside me, Sherlock. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, but...."

"No. I will provide you with what you need, don't you worry, but you will definitely not feed on other humans again. Are we clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good."

After John got Sherlock's word that he would never drink from someone else again, he felt better. His jealousy started to subside again.  
He looked at his hand and found the wound already healing.

"My saliva. It's healing wounds quicker as not to kill our victims from blood loss after we stopped drinking."  
"Good to know, love."

If he had not been a bat, John could have sworn that Sherlock blushed at this endearment. But bats did not blush. Did they?

"So, you are staying now?"

"Yes, John. I will stay with you.“


End file.
